


on your knees (in front of the head of the cia)

by notveryhandy



Category: Doctor Who (Big Finish Audio), Gallifrey (Big Finish Audio)
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-18 13:27:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29118972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notveryhandy/pseuds/notveryhandy
Summary: The CIA are, in fact, boytoys.
Relationships: Narvin/Andred, Narvin/Torvald, Vansell/Eighth Doctor, Vansell/Narvin, Vansell/Torvald
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	on your knees (in front of the head of the cia)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yourlocalhalo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yourlocalhalo/gifts), [haha_looms](https://archiveofourown.org/users/haha_looms/gifts).



“You’re staring at me again.”

“Coordinator, I-”

“By all means, continue. It’s funny to see you get so wound up over nothing.” Vansell laughed, leaning over him. “You blush so easily, Narvin.”

Narvin couldn’t tell whether that was a compliment or an insult. (With Vansell, it was usually an insult.) His gaze wandered down the streets of the Capitol, towards the Chancellery Guard, and then back towards the Citadel. (What was the pretty man in charge called again? Andred or something?)

“I hear you’ve got yourself a new boytoy, Narvin.”

Narvin went bright red. “I- I would never-”

“Please. It wouldn’t be the CIA if we weren’t all dating each other.”

“But... I’m not fucking Torvald?”

“Your loss, I suppose. All the more for me.” Vansell smiled nastily. “And you can quit blushing, Narvin. Sometimes you have to get dirty.”

Vansell stood up, shoving his hands in his pockets. “In more ways than one.”

* * *

“Why are _they_ here?” Torvald snarled, glaring at the curly-haired man on the other side of the bar. “Aren’t we meant to be undercover? How are we meant to spy with that imbecile all over us?”

Vansell tugged a hand through his (shoulder-length, very pretty, somewhat wavy and coarse) white hair. Narvin was definitely not making notes. “Xe does what xe likes. They’re the Doctor, not your personal slave.”

“It’s not bloody — it’s not _slavery_ to want that renegade out of our way! For Rassilon’s sake, sir, can’t we just knock him out and be done with it?”

“No you damn well can’t, Torvald. The Doctor is-”

“Is what? Your precious loverboy? For once in your lives, can’t you drop the biases?”

Vansell shot him a glance which evidently said _No, I will not._

Torvald huffed.

Before Narvin could do anything to deal with the resentment stirring in the air, the Doctor wandered over. “Hello, Vansell!” they said cheerfully. “Hello, um...”

“This is Narvin,” said Vansell, “and _this..._ is Torvald.” He gave Torvald a decidedly unsavoury glance.

“Delighted to meet you all!”

“Doctor- darling, we have business to deal with. Would you mine clearing out?”

The Doctor pouted. Narvin eyed them both from the side, bemused. _How strange. They appear to be... a thing. An ‘item,’ I suppose._

_How horrible._

“One kiss before I go, my dear Coordinator?”

“If you insist,” Vansell murmured. He didn’t sound that annoyed.

Narvin chose to look at Torvald, trying to tune out Vansell and the Doctor making out in the middle of a fucking inn.

“I hate it here.”

“You’re not the only one, Narvin.” Torvald took a large gulp of his ginger beer. “i just want to forget this ever hapened.”

“You’re a slimy little bitch.”

“And you love me for it.”

* * *

“Madam President? What are _you_ doing here?”

Romana glared at him. “Trust me, Deputy Coordinator, I don’t want to be here any more than you do. But, well...”

“Out with it.”

“Vansell is dead,” she sighed. “Typical noble self-sacrifice to save the Doctor. You know what I mean.”

“Unfortunately, yes.” After having handled one too many of the Doctor’s scandals, he knew exactly what she meant. 

“Then you know what to do?”

“Indeed.”

“Oh, and by the way, Narvin?”

“Please get on with it.”

She grinned. “It’s _Coordinator_ Narvin now.”

* * *

Narvin glanced at Torvald. “You alright? You look a little shaken up there. Guess your latest regeneration was... a rough one.”

“I... I’m...” Before he could finish the sentence, Torvald fainted into his arms.

_Well, that’s a solid answer, I guess._

He cradled Torvald in his arms, peering down at Torvald’s freshly-regenerated body. He was rather pretty, actually, in an almost boyish sort of way. His past regeneration had been a rugged man with short, dirty blonde hair and stony grey eyes. This version of Torvald had a much thinner face, with a sharper jaw and thick, wavy hair falling into his eyes. His eyes were as dark as the strands falling into them, a rich shade of brown that Narvin couldn’t quite look away from. Tan skin combined with a tangled mop of hair suited Torvald far too well.

Narvin pressed a kiss to his forehead.

He was definitely not simping.

Not all all.

* * *

Andred winced. “I- ow! Could you _not?_ ”

“For fuck’s sake, Andred, just get in the damn cell.” Romana dragged him by the wrists, ignoring how his handcuffs scraped against his skin. Of course she’d gone to the damn indignity of those heavy, uncomfortable validium cuffs that were only used for the most annoying of prisoners.

“These things are so inefficient, shouldn’t your precious CIA have got rid of them by now? Or are you not as powerful as you thought?”

“Oh, shut up, Andred. Before I gag you.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Is our Lord President more kinky than I thought?”

“You’re once again making everything about Leela. You know she hates you, right?”

Andred squirmed. “Do we have to go over this?”

“No, we wouldn’t, if you’d just stop making small talk!”

“ _Fine!_ Not _my_ fault our president is so godsdamned antisocial!”

“Don’t say I didn’t _fucking_ warn you!” Romana yelled as she stormed out.

“Good fucking riddance!”

_“SHUT UP!”_

* * *

The door creaked open for the first time in six days. “Andred.”

“Narvin.”

Narvin glared out him.

“ _Fine._ Coordinator Narvin.”

“I do so love hearing you say my name like that,” Narvin muttered. “Does this amuse you? Or worse, do you _like_ this?” He cupped Andred’s chin, fingers curling over his face. Andred flushed.

“Ah. So you _do_ like it when I do this to you.” Andred squirmed under his touch, and tried to breathe properly. This was absolutely fine. Definitely not something straight out of his fantasies. Not at all.

To his shock, Narvin _kneeled._ “I... I don’t know what to say. I almost feel like I owe you some sort of apology. In retrospect we’ve been unnecessarily harsh. After all, it was only the one murder. I’ve done far, far worse in my time.”

Whatever Andred was expecting, it hadn’t been... this. The head of the CIA, on his knees, in front of a prisoner? It seemed almost unreal...

And hot. “Narvin, what are y- _mmf-_ ”

Narvin pushed him against the wall and kissed him, entangling his hands in Andred’s already messy hair. Andred would have done the same, but Narvin had very little hair to speak of, and, well, he was a little tied up. Literally.

Narvin’s hands travelled down to the nape of his neck, unbuttoning his shirt. “Wait- is this...”

Andred shivered. “Y-yes, I-” Narvin bit his neck, and he choked. He knew from previous experience that Narvin knew what he was doing (how could anyone forget Vansell’s messy relationships?), but still. 

“Don’t-” Narvin bit again, and he curled his hands. “Don’t stop-”

“Oh, don’t worry. I have no intentions of going anywhere any time soon.”

* * *

Andred came out of the visit with considerably more bruises than when he went in.


End file.
